A friend of mine posted on her blog about scars. She had seen this site, Under the Red Dress Project, about a woman and her scars that were from life saving surgeries. Her point was that her scars weren’t ugly, but meant she was alive. They were reminders that she had fought back and won.

I don’t have surgical scars, at least not any that can be seen. I have a hysterectomy scar, but not on the outside. I have a scar at the back of my sphenoid sinus where instruments were inserted through my nose, through a drilled hole to reach my pituitary gland to remove a tiny tumor. I have lots of scars, just not surgical scars. I have Cushing’s scars. My abdomen is covered in scars. They are stretch marks that are a symptom of Cushing’s. The excess cortisol depletes collagen from the skin, leaving it thin, brittle and unable to heal.

When my endocrinologist was trying to get my diabetes (Cushing’s caused) into check, he started me on a once nightly insulin shot. The nurse explained that I should give myself the shot in my abdomen and rotate the location each time. She suggested a clock type rotation. Then she explained that I should not give the shot in any scars (including stretch marks) since that skin would not absorb it correctly. I’m sure I must have had a very shocked look on my face.

Every night is like playing a difficult level of a video game. I’m running through a tiny maze, trying not to touch the sides. I have only little less than half inch paths of actual flesh in which to give a shot.

So now I’m thinking about what my scars mean. My visible scars don’t show the defeat of my illness, they show my lost battles. They show all my lost time, lost youth, lost health. They remind me of the time the disease was winning. The one scar that shows the battle I won, is deep inside in a place I will never see. I just have to know it is there. A commemoration in a dark, hidden cave. My visible scars are real reminders if my ongoing fight, especially trying to find a small spot of real skin every night for my insulin shot.

Maybe someday if I can ever defeat diabetes, or at least get it under control enough to no longer need the shots, the meaning of my scars will change. I hope some day they will mean a battle won. But for now, to me, they just mean a battle lost.